


A Stranger Is Better Than Nothing

by definitelyflowers



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 13:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6755956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/definitelyflowers/pseuds/definitelyflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Children of Atom keep Isaiah on a short leash, and it's no wonder he wants some alone time. But when that's interrupted by a beautiful blond? He can't say he minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stranger Is Better Than Nothing

_And fuck you, and you, and you, and especially_ you _. That disgusting excuse for molerat stew nearly made me go feral, it was so bad_ , Isaiah thinks as he wanders from the small campsite. He’s got a smile on his face and a pep in his step, and for once, everything isn’t so bad. A cluster of guards glance his way, but none do more than wave. He waves back, and his mind keeps screaming, _fuck these crazy fuckers._

 

He shifts the heavy sack from one shoulder to the next, determined to make the day’s hike to the abandoned settlement before sundown. It’s all prophet business, he likes to claim whenever he makes the monthly trip. Prophet business must be done in solitude. Otherwise, Atom may abandon them entirely.

 

The stupid cultists believe him every time.

 

Isaiah laughs. Yeah, it sure is prophet business. Jack-off-in-privacy kind of business. War changed the world—at least, it sure changed him—but the irrational disdain towards pleasure never died. He resents it deep in his bones. A man has needs. Important needs. Needs like not being poisoned by shitty food and not having his skin slough off in chunks and, Atom-be-damned, a strong need for a sweaty palm against his dick every once in a while. He likes to make a big deal about communicating with Atom about every little thing once a month so he can get away and enjoy his hand in peace.

 

His fingers slide against the mounds of papers in his pockets, those little wishes the Children of Atom write down in the form of prayers for Isaiah to send off to their god. Sometimes he wants to dump them before he reaches his destination, but he never does. It doesn’t make sense to him. He’d slice every scrawny throat in the group: men, women, and children.

 

No, maybe not the women in children. He knows a few raiders that would pay him a nice stack of caps for their living sacks of meat. It’s cruel, but the world is cruel, and he likes eating more than he likes people.

 

Isaiah hums along the way. Not much disturbs a ghoul out in the wastes. The few stray dogs and rabid molerats that do attack don’t last long, and today is no different. A mating pair of hounds bound up to him a little after his midday snack, growling and snapping at his heels. Their fur is matted and mangy, their hides burned from sun and rads. He shoots one in the chest and the other in the back. The first dies with a few pathetic cries, but the second lays on the ground unable to move.

 

“Aw, poor puppy,” he croons before kicking it in the ribs. Isaiah draws his knife from its holster. “Is the baby hurt? Let me fix that.”

He kneels beside it and runs his hand along its side. It’s soft despite everything, but that doesn’t stop him. It never stops him. He has a lot of anger, a lot of rage, and if he can’t take it out on the Children of Atom, he’ll damn sure take it out on the beast that dared to attack him. Isaiah shoves the blade into its stomach, twisting and sawing until the dog is dead and its intestines litter the ground. He wipes his knife clean on its carcass and stands.

 

There’s a catharsis in killing animals. Before the war, he had always wanted to but avoided it, just in case someone caught him and thought he might do well locked up and experimented on. After the war, not a single person has such qualms. You have to do a lot worse than gut a dog before anyone bats an eye.

 

He spits at it and continues on.

 

Isaiah always includes this kind of delay in his estimation of how long it will take to get to his private place. There’s no raiders or mutants this far out, but without the touch of humanity, nature runs wild. He keeps humming, keeps walking, and the buildings come into view before the sun is close to setting. His pace quickens. There’s a giddiness building in his body, driving him onward. The path he makes is muddy but clear, and he follows it without thinking, up the stairs and into the attic of a crumbling old house. The bedroll hasn’t moved, and the sheet he put up to keep out the worst of the wind is still in place. He lights the small lantern and a few candles, drops his sack, and settles onto the ground.

 

When he unbuttons his pants and pulls himself out, he isn’t surprised to see his cock already half-hard. Isaiah gives it a couple rough strokes to firm it up before slowing down and savoring the time he has by himself. The situation itself makes him horny. He breathes in and out through the remnants of his nose, shuts his eyes, and lets his mind go black. The first round or two rarely requires lube. It’s enough to feel himself, and the scratch of his scarred skin produces such good friction, he practically gushes precum.

 

He bites down on his lip to stifle a small moan. Loud is for later. Right now, it’s all about the seduction, about re-learning the curves of his body. Isaiah treats himself like a new lover. His pants slip down his thighs as he shifts angles. His fingers ghost over newly bared flesh and stop to massage the space between his balls and entrance, stimulating himself without having to go inside. That, too, is for later.

 

“Oh, fuck, that’s it.” Isaiah’s words are the only sound as the sun sinks below the horizon. He strokes himself to a solid rhythm, the pattern ingrained in his memory. It feels so good, and it’s been so long, and it’s all Isaiah can do to stop himself from shouting as he releases onto his shirt, staining it. “Shit.” The word is long and drawn out as he wipes away the mess. He blinks away the blurriness in his eyes and fumbles for his pack, grabbing some of the jerky he stuffed near the top. The old meat is chewy and tasteless, but it fills him, and that's what matters.

 

Isaiah leans back against the wall. He doesn’t bother putting himself away. Experience has taught him that the time taken is pointless, that he’ll just be uncomfortable between quick naps until he fondles himself into a puddle of sheer bliss.

His eyes snap open. It feels like only a few seconds have passed, but the stars are bright in the night sky and the candles have run low, their wax pooling around their bases. Something woke him up—a creak or a groan, but _something_ did it, and he knows there should be _nothing_ around.

 

In the shadows beyond his light, he spots a clump of blankets he hadn’t noticed before. He crawls over to it, knife in his fist, and gives the mass a shove. The bundle spasms violently. A head pops out one end, feet the other.

 

Isaiah stares down at the blond.

 

The blond stares up at him.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Isaiah presses the knife to the other man’s throat. He isn’t surprised when it doesn’t phase him.

 

“Sleeping.” His voice is gruff. “What the fuck, man?”

 

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

 

“No sign saying I can’t.”

 

“I’m saying you can’t.”

 

“Like I give a Brahmin’s ass about what some ghoul with his dick hanging out has to say.”

 

Well, he has him there.

 

Isaiah tries not to waver, presses the knife a little further into the stranger’s skin until he winces. Though the lighting is dim, he tries to get a good look at the other man’s features. His eyes are nearly black, but Isaiah figures in the day they would be dark brown, like almonds. His nose is large, angular, but not unattractive; it suits his face well.

 

And he can’t remember the last time he saw lips on a human that weren’t spouting some ridiculous bullshit about the holiness of radiation. At least, he hopes this isn’t some new cult member that followed him here. It would be a shame to kill someone with such a kissable mouth.

 

“Do you know who I am?”

 

“Why would I?”

 

Relief blossoms through him. Oh, it’s good to be unknown. He wets his lips and tries to smile. “I’m Isaiah.” His cheeks redden, and he can’t hide his embarrassment as he glances away. He hates himself. It’s one thing to knife a guy in his sleep, but another thing entirely to be attracted to the guy he wants to knife. He knows he’s making a complete and utter fool of himself, tries to laugh it off, but it comes out like a giggle.

 

“So you wanna stop slicing my neck open or what?” Isaiah scoots back. “I’m Texas Red. Texas or Red. Not Tex.”

 

Red props himself up with his left arm. The right ends in a nub just above where the elbow should be. Living with one arm isn’t something many people can do, especially not alone, and Isaiah finds himself impressed. He doesn’t mention it, doesn’t want to come off as too much of a freak.

 

He slides the knife back into its sheath. “What, uh, brings you here?”

 

When was the last time he had to make small talk?

 

Red looks around. “Sleeping. You gonna put that thing away?”

 

“I already put the knife—” Isaiah glances down. He’s half-hard _again_. “Oh. I don’t think so.”

 

“Whatever, kid.” Red lays back down, bringing the blanket to his shoulders. He struggles a moment to tuck his feet under as well, but manages after a few attempts. He shuts his eyes, completely unconcerned with the small streak of blood on his neck or the fact that Isaiah keeps watching him.

 

Isaiah sits quietly for a minute. Then, unthinking, he says, “You wanna fuck?”

 

Red’s eyes slide open. “What?”

 

“I mean, I’m here to jack it. You wanna, like, join me or something?”

 

“You’re here to _jack it_.” Red sits back up. “And you think I want to _jack it_ with some random ghoul who just tried to slice my throat open?”

 

“Yeah.” Isaiah shrugs. “I’m still horny.”

 

“I can see that.”

 

“It’s been a while.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Do you not like guys or something?”

 

“That’s not it.”

 

“Ghouls?” Isaiah’s voice cracks a little in disappointment. Red places his hand on Isaiah’s shoulder.

 

“I don’t mind ghouls, but you did try to kill me.”

 

“You were in my space. Do you know how hard it is? I get once a month, they don’t let me out of their sight any other time.”

Red narrows his eyes. “They?”

 

“It’s not a big deal. Sorry I tried to kill you.”

 

“Apology accepted?”

 

“So you wanna do this or what?”

 

“No thanks.”

 

“Do you mind if I jack it?”

 

A small gust of air escapes Red’s nose. “Go ahead. Have fun.”

 

Isaiah remembers Christmas, vaguely, and this feels like that. He crawls back towards his space and settles into the blanket. It’s not that the years have made him bolder, but that the loneliness has gotten under his skin, made it so that he craves any attention other than the reverence of the Children of Atom. Even Red’s apathy fuels him. He remembers high school, convincing all the boys he could that they needed to learn how to fuck guys if they wanted to survive the war. Most of them gave in with a little pressure—sex was sex back then. People didn’t think about things like ghouls or radiation sickness, didn’t think such a thing could happen.

 

He wraps his hand around his arousal and strokes it gently. Sometimes it’s hard to look down at it, see the disfigured skin of his arm and the yellow-green stuff he ejaculates. It doesn’t stop him from enjoying his pleasure, but it brings back memories of a time before, when all he had to worry about was the draft and getting laid.

 

Well, now he has to worry about Robert and getting laid. And oh, how he wants to kill the former and drown in the latter. Being a ghoul means no aging, he was slow to learn that, and he envies those in adult bodies. Nineteen and lustful forever is a hard fate.

 

His lust takes the form of Red, who lays right in front of him. A stranger is better than nothing, after all, and this stranger is more than handsome. He bites his lip to stop from grunting too loudly. It’s hard when something tangible rests across a short space. Red licks his lips and shifts, trying to get comfortable on the wood floor. Isaiah squeaks, imagining the ways their bodies would mesh together, the way Red would adjust underneath him, bringing their hips closer together until only the thinnest barrier of skin separated them. He keeps his sight on that mouth, those narrow lips that look utterly kissable in their resting state. What would they be like puffed up from sucking, what kind of marks would they leave against his skin? His free hand pinches at a nipple through his shirt, and he thinks about Red’s sharp teeth digging into him.

 

Breathing becomes harder the closer he gets to release, and Isaiah lets out ragged pants, trying to mask the soft mumbling of Red’s name.

 

He fails. Red glares at him when he drags his thumb over the slit and cries out.

 

“Could you be quiet?”

 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll be finished faster if you—” Isaiah gasps as he continues to run his thumb over the slit, using the motion to cover himself with precum. “If you help me out.”

 

“Holy shit, alright, fucking fine.” Red throws the blanket to the side and storms over to Isaiah. He kneels in front of him, swats his hand away, and starts stroking him fiercely. His fist is tight, grip almost unbearable, but the pain settles in just the right spot in Isaiah’s stomach. He bites his lip as he cums. The coppery taste of blood fills his mouth, and his whole body slumps against the wall. Through blurry vision, he watches Red sniff his seed then take a tentative lick. Red nods, surprised. “Not bad.”

 

Isaiah can’t keep the grin off his face. “Wow. Uh, thanks for that. You really helped me out.” Red rolls his eyes and wipes the rest off on Isaiah’s jeans. The feeling of a palm on his thigh, even in this situation, sends him twitching back to life. He figures it must have been half a decade since someone else touched him in any type of sexual manner, and he’ll be damned if he’s giving up now. “Let me blow you.”

 

“Really? God, kid.” Red rolls his eyes. “They don’t make ‘em like they used to, that’s for damn sure.”

 

“Is that a compliment?” Isaiah blushes. “So, you wanna?”

 

“Why do you want to?”

 

“I’m lonely.” He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “There’s not much action where I come from. Protect the prophet and all that.”

 

Red squints. “The prophet?”

 

“Maybe let’s just fuck?”

 

“Well, I guess all that matters is you.”

 

“I guess you’re right,” Isaiah says after a snort. “Guess maybe I’m just nineteen for-fucking-ever and I’d like to suck off a hot guy in an attic. You really gonna turn that down?”

 

“No.”

 

There’s not a second before Isaiah starts pushing Red onto his back. “Relax, I’ve got this.” He unbuttons Red’s pants and pulls them down with the underwear, glad to see his new friend (he reasons this makes them friends) is at least a little turned on by the prospect of having his cock sucked. Isaiah wets his lips at the sight of it. Much like Red himself, it’s long and skinny, and Isaiah wonders how he’ll fit it all in his mouth, not that he isn’t eager to try. He gives it a shy lick, glancing up at Red’s face to make sure everything is okay. The blond has his eyes sealed shut. Isaiah takes it as a compliment, the way Red’s chest rises and falls a little too shallowly, the way beads of sweat cling to his brow despite the cool night air. He wonders why the other fought this in the first place. The wasteland is lonely most of the time. Chances are high they’ll never meet again. Why not have a little fun?

 

Oh, and it’s been a long time since he had fun like this. Isaiah runs his tongue up the vein, chuckling under his breath as it twitches. His fingers dip low to massage above his entrance, and when Red thrusts up at the contact, little pubes tickle Isaiah’s chin. It draws a good sound from Red. A nice, low moan that echoes in the low light. Within a few moments of gentle suckling, Red’s arousal is hard in Isaiah’s mouth, and he dips his head a little further down until Red rocks up to meet him. He pulls back before he gags, wiping a little drool from his chin, then he bends to press a few light kisses to each of Red’s trembling thighs.

 

He goes back to it when Red’s hand pushes at his shoulder. The length he can’t fit in his mouth, and there’s plenty of it, he works with his free hand. Red is louder than he expected, but it’s a soothing kind of loud that reminds him he’s doing a damn good job for five years without seeing another man’s dick in person. He grunts around it and pushes down more, letting Red control the pace with his eager hips. There’s a special something in having his air taken away rapidly and repeatedly; it gives him a high and he craves more. Without a nose, it’s easy to get as close as possible until Red is bucking frantically into the back of his throat. He breathes in and out, trying to maintain his vision, but it blurs as oxygen escapes his lungs.

 

A quick flash of darkness assaults him, but then he realizes he’s gone a little too far, Red just a little too deep. He won’t call it fainting, nor does he dream of bringing attention to it, because the bitter-salty taste of cum between his teeth is nice. Isaiah laps it up, pulling back enough so that the last shot lands on his cheek rather than on his lips. He grins and crawls onto Red to mash their mouths together. He forces it back into Red, makes him taste what he spilled, and the moan against him, the one shaky arm around his shoulders, is enough to know that he and Red are going to get to know each other a little bit more intimately.

 

Their tongues tangle. He isn’t sure when Red sat up, but he’s glad he has a leg to grind against as they kiss. Isaiah runs his finger’s through Red’s soft hair, parting knots with rough yanks until the hand on his shoulder is on his hip, squeezing. When they part, they’re breathless. A smear of cum covers a portion of Red’s cheek, and Isaiah laughs, leans in to lick it off.

 

“And I was going to slit your throat. _That_ would have been a mistake, if you ask me.”

 

“No one asked you.” Red smiles at him, a little show of fun.

 

Maybe they are friends now.

 

Isaiah kisses him again, but gentler. A softness bubbles inside his chest. It fails to overpower the lust, but he doesn’t know if that’s the point. Loneliness hangs over him like always, but exchanging little pecks with Red draws it away in increments. He rests his head on Red’s shoulder, nibbles at his neck, and the smile refuses to leave his face.

 

“You’re a noisy freak. Can’t believe you let a stranger blow you.” He feels rather than sees Red rolling his eyes. The laugh in his chest vibrates both of them. Isaiah’s arousal aches, and he humps against Red more firmly. “You got any rad-x or radaway or whatever?”

 

“Horny slut.”

 

“Answer the question, prick.”

 

“Yeah, of course. Who wouldn’t?”

 

“Why? You always plan to fuck ghouls while you’re out?”

 

“And what if I did?”

 

“I’d say get to work fucking if that’s your plan. This ghoul is thoroughly unsatisfied.”

 

Red stands and stretches before pushing his jeans from his legs. He peels his shirt off while he walks, not trying to be sexual, but Isaiah’s eyes trail down his back and rest on his ass. There are a lot of things about his body that Isaiah likes, but watching those perky cheeks bounce as he covers the short distance between them is one of Isaiah’s favorites. He can’t remember the last time he saw someone naked who he wanted naked. The baptisms in irradiated lakes are not the same as the semi-revealing bend of Red’s hips while he sorts through his things.

 

He straightens back up, glances over his shoulder with a sly smile, and waves the tiny bottle of rad-x at Isaiah. “Not that I need it.” He ducks down and pulls another, less distinct bottle from his pack. The two items barely fit together in his hand.

 

“Why not?”

 

“I’m not the one getting filled tonight.” Red winks. Isaiah’s mouth goes dry and his cheeks flush. The second bottle falls to Isaiah’s lap as Red pops open the rad-x and swallows a couple. Most people do it without thought, he’s noticed, but he’s never taken any himself. Then Red nods towards the other bottle. “Might wanna get started with that.”

 

It’s then that Isaiah realizes what’s in his hands. A nervous smile tugs at the edges of his mouth. There’s a thickness in his throat, a question dangling in his mind: _are you sure you really want me?_ But he doesn’t ask, doesn’t want Red to have the chance to back out of it, not when he’s naked and grinning and already sporting another erection.

 

People love him. They follow every word that spills from him with eager and blind devotion. It’s all lies, surely they know that, but he talks to Atom sometimes despite it all. He prays and stuffs his pockets with the prayers of others. Sometimes he asks for escape, but sometimes he lowers his standards and begs for someone who doesn’t give a damn about his holiness. The Children of Atom treat him well. They shower him with praise and keep him safe from danger.

 

But none of them care, not really. He could be any ghoul, and they’d love him the same.

 

Maybe Red would, too, but he’s scared to think of that. It almost sickens him to imagine that this is something Red might do all the time, that he’s about to _do this_ with a complete stranger. Isaiah’s mind whirls with a wave of regret. It won’t stop him. He clenches his jaw and smiles, forcing the words out.

 

“And what am I supposed to get started?”

 

“Fucking tease.”

 

Red kneels before him, pressing their lips together once again. Isaiah forgets his doubts and reacts. He drags their bodies down until the human is laying on top of him. With his one arm, Red manages to push at Isaiah’s pants, still around his thighs, until Isaiah wriggles out of them. Their naked arousals grind together, and little gasps escape their mouths as they kiss. It’s minute, the way they adjust to one another, all physical energy with none of the mental to confuse it. The way Red rubs against him, prodding at his entrance with need and want, forces Isaiah to break away.

 

They pant for breath. Their eyes meet, dark brown settling on gray, and there’s understanding there. Red sits back on his legs and grabs the small tube, unwinding the lid one-handedly, practiced and confident. His fingers twist it around. Isaiah is only mildly surprised at the dexterity. Most of his focus goes to the slick digits as they sneak forward and enter him.

 

His head falls back as he groans. He reacts naturally to the intrusion, the regularity of his own fingers within him helping Red stretch him out. The twist of Red’s hand, the second and then third finger, isn’t meant for Isaiah to enjoy. It’s all business, quick and brutal, and he bucks into it despite everything.

 

“Let me ride you,” he says between moans. Red obliges. He shifts until he’s sitting cross-legged, patting his lap for Isaiah to climb onto. Isaiah straddles his hips. It takes a moment for Red to brace himself on one arm while Isaiah positions them, but the slow sink of the ghoul onto his arousal is worth the shaking of his bicep.

 

Isaiah goes at a steady pace, neither fast nor slow, edging his way until their hips meet in one delicious moment. Both men grunt at the beginning of sex, the pleasure deep inside them clawing to be released.

 

And Isaiah stops himself from thinking, stops himself from doing anything but kissing Red as he starts to bounce. A shock hits his spine, cruel in the way that it gives just enough pleasure to keep him rocking forward, pushing down to meet Red’s hips pushing up. The angle is unbelievable. It takes a brief few thrusts before Red is hitting him _there_ , and it’s been so long, and Isaiah cries out with a mix of joyful frustration as his pleasure builds.

 

It keeps building, up and up until his eyes are clenched shut and his lips are pressed into Red’s exposed collar bone, muffling his delight. He can feel Red beneath him, the strain of his single arm propping them up weakening him, and it takes a light push to send him sprawling onto his back. Red’s legs straighten below him, but it doesn’t register to Isaiah, doesn’t matter, because his whole body is on fire. His pace quickens. He slams down onto Red, his dirty nails digging into the other man’s shoulders, again and again. One hand grips his hips, squeezing him, guiding him deeper every time.

 

“Shit, Isaiah.” Red’s voice is hoarse, but the sound of his name is enough.

 

His hand shoots to his member, and two firm tugs later, he’s coming all over Red’s chest. It seems that was enough for Red, too, because Isaiah finds himself filling up as bliss overtakes him. Hot tears leak from his eyes as his body collapses onto Red’s. Their chests move together in a steady rhythm.

 

They lie in silence for a while. The cold night air brushes against their skin, and it affects Red, turning him into a shivering mess underneath Isaiah’s weight. Isaiah follows the unspoken request and sits up. While Red drags his blanket over to their new corner, Isaiah picks a couple splinters out of his knees. The candles are on the verge of flickering out, but the patches of sky visible through the holes in the roof lighten with the rising of the sun. Red scoots their clothes closer with his feet, draping the blanket around their shoulders as he sits. He pulls Isaiah’s jeans up first, and the pockets empty of their contents.

Red lifts an eyebrow.

 

“Can I ask?”

 

Isaiah wraps his arms around his knees, laying his head on his forearms. Red unfolds one of the sheets. He squints. His mouth forms the words, breath quiet, and his forehead wrinkles in frustration. Isaiah plucks it from his fingers and begins to read aloud.

 

“It says, ‘Atom, blessed be your light, please help Lila heal. She won’t eat. I pray nightly, bathe her in your waters as Robert insists, but still she grows weaker. Save my little girl.’ This one is from Margie.” He swallows. Lila is barely three, he was there when she was born. Her chances of surviving to four are slim, grow slimmer by the day, and it hurts him that someone so innocent could disappear from the world before she could grow to become her own person.

 

Red’s voice interrupts his musings.

 

“Atom? The cultists?”

 

Isaiah laughs, bitterness swelling in him. “Of course. Atom has chosen me, out of everyone, to carry his message of holy light. That’s what Robert claims, but he keeps shooting down people before he even has the chance to proselytize. No better than a fucking raider, but the Children, his followers? Not the worst.”

 

Red’s arm wraps around him, draws him in until his back is against a nice, smooth back. “You own a cult.” Red peppers his bare shoulders with kisses. “That’s pretty sexy.”

 

He scoffs, but settles into the attention. The relief that Red is willing to cuddle him after keeps him smiling, and he shuts his eyes to enjoy the touch.

 

When he opens them again, Red is gone, but Isaiah hears the soft hum of a song and smells mirelurk eggs cooking on an open flame. He puts on his clothes, tightening the belt a little extra, and stuffs his pockets with the paper before he joins the other man downstairs.

 

“What are you singing?”

 

Red pokes at the eggs with a long stick and smiles. The remainder of his right arm gestures vaguely towards a chair, and Isaiah takes a seat.

 

“It’s a little tune from back out west. Ain’t that a Kick in the Head? Dean Martin?” Isaiah shrugs. “Good stuff. How do you like your eggs?”

 

“Scrambled.”

 

“Does it matter how much I cook them?”

 

“No. It won’t make me sick.”

 

“Cool.”

 

The silence is amiable, friendly. Things aren’t weird, and Isaiah expected they would be. Red doesn’t speak when he plates their food or when Isaiah starts chucking in the prayers between bites, reading each one carefully.

 

“I don’t think it does much,” he begins when he catches Red’s gaze. “I don’t know if Atom is real, but they’re nice enough people. They trust me. I don’t know why, but they trust me.” He watches the edges of one burn to a crisp. “When I was in high school, before the war, we read about effigies and, like, tribal beliefs about things being sent to the gods by smoke. If there is an Atom, maybe he’ll listen.”

 

“Every month?”

 

“Every month.”

 

“Don’t suppose you’d mind if I visited next time, make the trip a little less lonely?”

 

Isaiah grins. “I wouldn’t mind it at all.”

 

They finish their food, pack up, and stand across from each other. Red ducks down to kiss Isaiah one last time. He tries not to blush too obviously, but Red is cute and it’s been a long time since someone made him feel giddy. They move in for a hug, bump foreheads, and pat each other on the back.

 

“So I’ll be seeing you. A month?”

 

“Yeah. A month.”

 

Isaiah turns away first, and he’s gushing like an idiot. He doesn’t look over his shoulder to see Texas leave. That would be too much.

 

The walk back to the settlement is long and peaceful. When a lone dog comes up to snarl at his feet, he ignores it. Not everything has to die, not right away.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find more of my works on tumblr @definitelyflowers.
> 
> Texas Red belongs to my friend @texas-not-tex/@meltyicecreamdarknessnightmare.
> 
> Comments are much appreciated! I also take requests. :)


End file.
